


Die Hardest

by Areo_ian, blackswans22, Embarassedbutkinky, FridayNightWrites, MahoganyDoodles, rogue_1102



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Christmas Party, Detective!Vegeta, F/M, Friday Night Writes, Gen, Goku being Goku, Gun Fight, Out of context Die Hard quotes, a whole lotta action scenes, die hard is a christmas movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areo_ian/pseuds/Areo_ian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackswans22/pseuds/blackswans22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embarassedbutkinky/pseuds/Embarassedbutkinky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FridayNightWrites/pseuds/FridayNightWrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahoganyDoodles/pseuds/MahoganyDoodles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_1102/pseuds/rogue_1102
Summary: Friday Night WritesAt Kamehame Corporation for a Christmas party, Detective Vegeta is the only one who avoids being taken hostage in a terrorist plot and must fight his way out. A Die Hard AU written by six writers, only half of whom had seen the movie.
Relationships: (Background Relationship), Son Goku & Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Vegeta/Bulma Briefs
Kudos: 15





	Die Hardest

**Author's Note:**

> Six writers, each taking turns writing for 10 minutes before passing it along to the next writer. A very VERY special thanks to [GetasGirl_x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GetasGirl_x/pseuds/GetasGirl_x) for keeping our time and cheering us on and to [rockykelboa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockykelboa/pseuds/rockykelboa) for beta-ing and really helping to polish up this piece!

This was the definition of everything that he hated in modern society—the lavish, over-the-top parties, the noise, the  _ Californians _ —and he wanted to pound his head over and over against the wall as he contemplated just  _ how _ he had let his cousin Kakarot talk him into coming to this infernal event, especially when he had important work in New York to do. 

Everyone around him was at least three drinks in, and he couldn’t help himself but roll his eyes as he saw Kakarot down yet another glass of the weak champagne they were serving at this party. The man’s wife was already side-eyeing him and preparing to unleash a fight, and he did not need that adding to his headache right now. 

He needed to get away, if even for a second. Besides, he had no idea how his buffoon partner was handling their cases without him.

From the tour Kakarot had given him earlier, he knew his cousin’s office was right down the hall, and from there he could call Nappa to check on the status of their cases. Making his way to the office, he opened the door and quickly located the phone. A flip of his wallet, and he had Nappa’s number in hand and began to dial. 

...he heard nothing, not the ringing of the phone or the telltale tone to show the line was on. 

Dead. 

Hm... Could be a bad connection in the office. 

He stepped out into the hall and down to the adjacent office, dialing Nappa again. 

The same thing—dead. 

There was something wrong, his years on the force telling him that something, or someone, was up to something, just as he heard gunshots ring out at the party, and a nasally voice call for order over the chaos and screaming of the guests.

He took a second to assess what was happening and listened for voices behind the office door, having taken a mental note of where the exits were during the tour and how many people were at the party. The voices were scattered and overlapping. Once most of the noise had dispersed from the area he was in, Vegeta gently opened the door a hair and peeled out to his surroundings.

With stealth precision, he opened the door and crossed the hall to the cubicle in front of him. He didn’t hear any voices or footsteps, so he hastily checked the drawers for anything that could be used as a weapon or shield. Checking the surrounding cubicles, he only found a heavy red stapler, several condoms, a lacy red thong, and a rosary among the useless office items. He armed himself with the stapler and the rosary. 

Footsteps and a change of magazine creeped up behind him, and he took shelter under a cubicle desk. He was almost, almost happy for his short stature that helped him tuck into the deepest corner of the self-made cave.

“The party isn’t even on this side, Kitten.”

“I know Jeice. But we have to make sure the area is all clear.”

“Ok, Captain.”

Taking in the scene in front of him, he crouched under the desk and spied two sets of feet lurking beyond his vision, both unaware of his presence. He took a breath, clutched the rosary and stapler and sprang into action.

Catching the closest man, a head taller than himself, in a chokehold with the beaded rosary around the throat, he chucked the stapler with deadly precision at the other man and smirked as the brute went down with a thud. The taller man, struggling for breath under his grip, slowly strangled under his tight fists, sputtering grizzly sounds before going slack. Vegeta released the man slowly to the ground and tsked at the trail of blood staining his hands and dress shirt. He took in the larger guard at his feet, eyes bulging from his sockets, a ponytail frazzled from rubbing. 

“Nine million bad guys in the world and I gotta kill the one with feet smaller than my sister,” he grimaced upon seeing the man’s dainty feet.

Remembering thankfully that it was no longer 1988, he propped himself upon the desk with self-confidence, looked about and found nothing else in the immediate vicinity before whipping out his cell phone to call the authorities. 

“West City PD. What is your emergency?”

“Yea, there’s a hostage situation or something here at the Kamehame Corporation Christmas Party.”

“It’s July.” The dispatcher replied incredulously, thinking it was some sort of crank call.

“I’m not throwing the party. Don’t give a shit. Are you coming or not?”

“Sending officers now, sir.”

“Thanks,” he said tersely before abruptly hanging up. 

“Well,” he smirked to himself gloating, “I guess I’m gonna be a pain in the ass tonight.”

He glanced out the window. Saw the cars, fuck yes, lots of cars. "Yeah, Baby, come to Papa."

That would fuck their plans up plenty, whatever the hell those bastards wanted to get here. Almost there, almost.

Blood ran cold in his veins when he heard the faint call outside the door and at the same time… What the fuck? Where were they going? Why did the police cars just fucking turn around? 

Shit shit shit!

"Jeice? Where the fuck are you? I'm telling you if you're out here somewhere fucking a–” 

Shit! Just how many were there? Calling the police seemed fucking useless. Apparently, they'd called the investigation off. Fuck. He grabbed the machine gun on one of the guys. If they messed with the police, a rosary and a stapler wouldn't do shit against them. He patted down the other guy, snatched two full magazines, and pressed himself against the wall next to the door.

Just what kinda shitshow did he get himself into here? Would another emergency call help? Maybe if he was just insistent enough. He was fairly confident in his ability to be a pain in the ass after all… maybe they'd send the FBI only to shut  _ him  _ up. 

No time for what-ifs. The guy outside came closer, throwing open doors in his search for his comrades. Screaming his head off with obscene warnings towards that poor guy dead on the floor. Shit, that was the door next to this cubicle. He held his breath, adrenaline pumping through his veins as his knuckles turned white around the weapon. He couldn't shoot him this close to the others. Knock him out, quick and clean. Find higher ground.

Literally, _ that. _ The individual tiles above his head could be lifted, if he could make his way up there quickly enough. He braced his feet against either side of the cubicle walls, shifting his weight as he frantically tried to scale up without making a sound.

Shit—his shoes were squeaking against the plastic walls as he slid down. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, another thirty seconds and the baddie would realize there was still one place he hadn’t checked. Pulling his shoes and socks off, cursing under his breath as he went, he retook his place to scale the wall and started upwards again, conscious of the footsteps that were growing closer. 

The tile shifted easily, and he thrust the machine gun up first, before hauling his body up and into the ceiling, carefully setting the tile back in place. Now to find a better location… he began to crawl through the dusty overhead, toward a flash of light at the very end. 

“Whose fucking shoes are these?” a voice below him cursed. Shit, and not a second too soon. 

He took more caution now, shifting his weight carefully to avoid making any noise for his enemy below to hear. The light was at his fingertips now, the side of a vent. He twisted his body, rearing back to kick open the shaft. Once, twice, again, and the metal clattered free, falling onto–

An elevator? And just below his level. Perfect.

He dropped down onto the metal, scanning the inside of the shaft for another exit. There, another one just two floors up.

Just then, the elevator shifted under his feet, and he tumbled downwards as the elevator headed for the very top floor. 

“Fuck!” On his way up, he saw various vents and openings above each floor. The only options to him in the moment being to jump in the elevator below or time a dart into an opening.

His mind dogged as he assessed the situation. He couldn’t tell if it was his pending doom or guilt that caused him to think of The Woman.

_ “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day!” _

_ “It’s my job.” _

_ “Yeah. But you don’t have to be so damn good at it.” His ex-wife closed the space between them and grabbed his collar. “Vegeta I want you to come home to me. Every time. I know you are good at what you do, and the world and people you save are better for it. But I have to be selfish. Promise me you’ll come home to me. Every night. Every time. Whatever situation you’re in, use your head, so you come home. To me.” _

He raised his head seeing the top of the elevator rapidly coming closer to his face, and an idea popped into his head. 

He pressed his ear against the top of the elevator, listening closely to who could be inside. From the silence and lack of movement, he thought he had about a fifty percent chance of it being only one man. Those odds were good enough.

Vegeta lifted the top vent of the elevator slowly, carefully, and set it aside without alerting the man riding to the top. He was right; it was only one person, but he was big—a giant of a man with red hair. He had to move fast.

Vegeta jumped down from the open space, wrapping one hand around the man's neck and landing on his back. By the time the fool had a chance to realize he was being attacked, he was at a disadvantage. The small space was helpful for someone Vegeta's size, but clearly restricted the swinging arms of the giant. 

Vegeta wrapped his legs around the man's waist to keep himself steady, then used his freed arms to put him in a fierce headlock. Slowly, the man lost consciousness. He fell to his knees, and passed out on the rough carpet of the elevator. Vegeta grinned when he saw the weapon the man had been holding—a machine gun. He grabbed it and slammed the butt of it into the man's head. He wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. A trickle of blood fell from the wound. He checked the man's wallet, just in case anything else could be in it that could come in handy.

He grinned.

* * *

At the bottom of the Kamehame Corp building the hostages were being kept rounded up in a silent but panicked crowd. The terrorists stood around them, led by one short man in a purple and white suit.

The elevator dinged.

All heads turned to look at it.

The doors opened. Sitting on the floor of the elevator was one of their unconscious colleagues. His shirt was painted in red blood.

_ Recoome all ye faithful. Now I have two machine guns. Ho ho ho. _

“Seems like you didn’t sweep the building as well as you thought. You imbeciles!”

The man in purple moved thoughtfully around the group of hostages, tapping a loaded gun to his chin. “Seems like we have a bit of a renegade on the loose here.” He paused as he regarded one of the hostages, his unflinching gaze traveling up and down appraisingly. He tsked lightly and continued his circular pattern.

“What shoddy hiring practices you have… How, disappointing. I would have expected better from a corporation as… illustrious as this.” 

Every few moments, the man in purple would stop to gaze at a new person, and every time he appeared nonplussed.

“So! If you can’t guess, we are here for something.” He set the firearm on a nearby table and slowly, but methodically, began to tug a glove off his hand. His movements, like before, were purposeful and seemed designed to illicit discomfort in his audience.

“A plaything really… a ball,” he sniggered, and looked over his shoulder at his entourage. “Now, I know that no one here wants to die for something as… trivial as  _ that _ .”

He snapped a well manicured finger and pointed to a random bystander. The crowd of hostages cowered in fear as the heavily armed thug stalked forward and aimed a heavy machine gun at the woman’s head.

“Anyone have any ideas as to where I could find this trifle?”

The woman gasped, eyes watering as she trembled in the henchman’s grip. 

“No answer?” The man in purple asked. “I’m delighted to hear that you’ve all decided to do this the  _ fun  _ way.” He snapped his fingers, “Burter—kill the spare.”

“Wait!” an elderly man called out. “I’ll tell you where it is.”

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” The leader snapped his fingers again, another henchman rushing forward to haul the man towards them as they headed for a nearby office. Once the man had reached the door, he called over his shoulder, “Oh, and Burter? Do teach them to respond more quickly.”

Though the heavy wood dampened most of the sound, Gohan still gasped at the shot that echoed behind him. The old man deflated, tears streaming down his cheeks, “How could you? She did nothing to you.”

“On the contrary—she was in my way.” The man sat down in the swivel chair and spun, looking down on his pitiful prisoner in front of him. “So, I believe you must be Son Gohan, the CEO of this fine corporation… and therefore you have the knowledge I want. So… where is the Dragon Ball?” 

Vegeta’s ears perked up from the vent he had crawled in from the elevator, surging forward to get closer to the mastermind. If he took out the mastermind, the other terrorists might be sufficiently disorganized for him to take them out quickly and protect the remainder of the hostages. 

“Why would you think we had–”

“Oh cut the…  _ hmmmm _ . If you want to play games I’m happy to keep eliminating your pieces until I reach what I want. Him.” Vegeta watched as the man in purple pointed to a short rounded man in overalls.

“Me. No. Nooo.” The man ran towards the main door to freedom. Immediately, he was grabbed by Burter and dragged to the same office the last worker never returned from. 

“Ok. WAIT. We have the Dragon Ball.”

_ What the fuck is a Dragon Ball?! _

“No shit! Where isss IT?!?” The man in purple quickly regained his composure that momentarily slipped.

“It’s in our board room. We have it on display.”

_ Guuuuuurrrrrr. _ “So when I give orders y’all just ignore them. How hard is it to do a fucking sweep of one fucking office building?!? Fucking imbeciles.”

“Boss, what do you want me to do with this guy.”

“Is he in the room?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have a gun?”

“Yes?”

“SHOOT HIM.”

_ One... two… five… Shit! Too many fucking guys. _

Another muffled shot echoed across the room, and a heavy crash sounded as the body landed on the floor. The man in purple pinched the bridge of his nose, rolled his shoulders, and straightened his suit. Once again, perfectly composed.

_ FUCK… where’s that idiot Kakarot when I need him? _

The head terrorist nodded in the direction of the board room and the remaining goons ran off to acquire said “Dragon Ball”. 

Vegeta peeked out of the vent again, and this time when he surveyed the room, he saw the familiar spikes of hair that his cousin sported peeking in from a crack in the door. To his dismay, Kakarot calmly walked in. He paused at the dead body, reaching down to take its pulse before continuing forward.

_ That moron! He’s gonna get himself killed. _

_ “ _ You got what you wanted. Now let everyone else go. We won’t stop you.”

The purple man looked perplexed at this random display of bravery and leveled his still smoking pistol at the newcomer.

“I suppose I do, and it would be a terrible waste of ammunition.” A mirthless smile etched itself on the purple man's face; however, to Vegeta’s consternation, his cousin continued his forward advance.

“I’m going to give you one chance. Leave us in peace, and we won’t stop you.” His cousin’s eyes flashed as he glanced down sadly at his grandfather’s body below. “You’ve already taken enough from us.”

“Hmm… I suppose I could.” The man stepped around Goku, heading for the exit. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he turned around, “But I’m afraid that I won’t.” The bullet fired before Vegeta had a chance to react, striking his cousin in the shoulder. Goku fell to one knee, clasping his shoulder as he gasped in pain. 

That was it. Vegeta unleashed a hail of bullets from the grates of his vent, each bullet going just wide of the villain as he sprinted away down the hall. Beating the butt of the gun against the grate, he burst through the metal and jumped to the floor, running to his cousin. 

“Geta? Is that you?” his cousin panted. 

He didn’t respond, lifting his cousin’s shirt from the wound. 

For fuck’s sake–

“It barely scraped you!” he complained. “Look, here.” Vegeta shoved the second machine gun into his arms. “We’ve got work to do.”

The pair sprinted down the hallway, Vegeta following Goku’s instructions to the boardroom. When they finally arrived, they arrived to a boardroom with the table destroyed, a large spherical indent on either half of the broken table, and not a goon in sight. 

“Fuck, where would they have gone, Kakarot?” His eyes were roaming the room, looking for any clue as to where they could have gone. And off in the distance, coming towards them… a chopper? “They’re trying to use the roof to escape!”

Goku sprinted ahead of him, taking the stairs three at a time once they hit the stairwell while Vegeta struggled with two. They made their way, panting, to the top of the roof, bursting out the door. 

The helicopter was only a few feet away now, the leader holding the Dragon Ball as he turned to stare at them. “Get them, now!” he shouted to the remaining five henchmen.

The cousins shot each other a look, raising their guns at the same time and pressing the triggers. The three heading towards Vegeta collapsed in seconds, before they even had time to draw their weapons. Goku’s two hit the ground soon after, and the pair began sprinting to where the helicopter sat waiting. 

They were almost too late, the blades already spinning and the helicopter beginning to lift off the ground. But a few more paces, and they would be–

Vegeta screamed, struck in the side with a bullet. He looked to the side where the two henchmen Goku had shot were struggling to their feet. “You weren’t supposed to shoot them in the _ fucking leg _ , you clown!”

Goku was already swooping down, lifting his body in his arms as he turned, taking aim at the helicopter. 

“Kakarot, what the fu–” Vegeta went sailing through the air, careening directly into man in purple within. The villain fell to the floor, the Dragon Ball and pistol falling from his hands. Vegeta snatched both up and took aim. 

“Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker.”


End file.
